The Giant and the Flame
by NoxWillow
Summary: Eomer and Avelyn have always been in each other's lives, somewhere in the background. When the crown passes to Eomer, things begin to change and truths come out. It's not always easy to navigate life, but it's easier if you let someone in along the way. Eomer/OC


**I have a bad habit of starting stories and not finishing them! I'm well aware but my muse changes quickly so I run with it wherever it goes!**

 **this has been one of my favourite characters to read about! Who doesn't love a strong blonde tall man with a temper to match? Of Eomer, you have me heart! OC character ahead to let me know what you think of her!**

 **Disclaimer: everything that sounds familiar belongs to Tolkien. What a bright and brilliant dude he was**.

Chapter one: Giant Win Wars

She was short. That's what everyone kept telling her, felt compelled to tell her as if she had no idea. Probably felt they were doing her a curtesy pointing out the obvious. Her whole life had been intersected with comments on her height deficiency. Rather annoying that. Though that's what one gets for being 5'4 in the land of the Horselords, where the average woman graced 5'9 and above. The men were in a whole different league. She was lucky if she made it to their shoulders. There must be somewhere in Middle Earth her height was considered average. Surely not all had to tower above her?

Her hair was another feature enabling a stranger to pick her out from a crowd. Her father had always called her blaze, just like the sun when it set in the western sky. Where the tall beauties of Rohan donned shiny golden locks, hers hung in unruly dark red curls. Unmanageable most of the time. A simple braid took care of that though. Curse the day she couldn't find her leather thong to tie her hair back. The rude comments from the stable boy about her "bird's nest" had taught her a valuable lesson. Never lose the small things and that organization is key.

She remembered the first time he really spoke to her. A time when life was innocent and easy. She had always been aware of his existence. They had grown up in the same city, coming from two different walks of life. He was related to royalty, an excuse he liked to use to bully other children with. You couldn't touch the King's nephew without the wrath of the crown coming down of you, or so he said. They had played in the same fields, run with the same group of kids but had always been separate. The first time he acknowledged her existence, it had been in her ninth year.

"You're short," was the first thing he had said to her, the two of them standing in the middle of the marketplace, happenstance that they be so close together. He had crept up on her then, ambushed her. How typical. Ten years old and he had the world at his feet. Or at least her. He was probably bored and she had been the nearest available target.

"I'm not short. I'm not even done growing yet," had been her response. She was only nine. Who was he to judge her stature when she hadn't hit her growth spurt yet?

"And yet you're a full head shorter than me." His grin was one of wickedness, as if his words could belittle her.

She wasn't that easy though. Her father had taught her better than to indulge in a taunting boy. She knew how not to take the bait. "We can't all be giants."

His smile never faltered. "Giants win wars."

"Giant oafs with little brains don't."

There. It wavered. She saw the twitch in his mouth.

"My hair doesn't resemble a bird's nest though." Ouch.

Avelyn's hand went directly to her braid, finding the thong tied nice and tight where it should have been. This oaf must have been in cohorts with the stable boy. "My hair is just fine."

"Your hair looks like someone tried to burn it and succeeded."

Now it was her time to falter. How impressive stupid boys always found a way to hurt her feelings. It was as if they were trying to outdo each other. Who could be the rudest, most insolent among themselves? This boy certainly was winning.

She studied him with the upmost scrutiny, trying to find something to pick apart. He was your typical Rohirrim boy; tall, blonde, and complete with an attitude. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to pick apart. She was a goner. Bested by the oaf.

Her saving grace appeared behind the blonde boy, a younger, feminine version of himself. "Eomer, how many times has father told you not to pick on others?"

Eomer scowled and turned towards his sister. "Eowyn, have you nowhere else to be?" With Eomer's attention occupied, Avelyn took the opportunity and bolted, the sudden rush prompting Eomer to turn back around. "Hey! Come back!"

When orcs fly, Avelyn thought as the wet mud lapped at her heels, soaked from the day's rain. Her feet sank in the mud as she powered on through. Another indignant shout followed behind but she had the advantage of a lead. Racing through the small market of Aldberg, Avelyn took a sharp turn around a fruit stand, settling down while her breath caught. The sound of two pounding footsteps echoed past, Avelyn sighing with relief.

Stupid boys.

Xxxxxxxxx

It was winter and the cold winds that it brought howled savagely outside.

Avelyn looked up from her place on the floor as the front door swung open, her fingers curled around a scrub brush, pushing it back and forth. Three people entered, exposing themselves to the soft light of the lanterns in the pub. One adult and two children. Typical for this time of night.

"Avelyn, that water is filthy," her mother Aragwen chided, coming out from behind the counter to greet the new customers. "Go change it, child."

Avelyn dropped the scrub brush back in its pail and hoisted herself off the floor, any thoughts to the strangers dismissed. "Yes, mother." With pail in tow, Avelyn made her way to the kitchen, out the back door and emptied the filthy water in fresh snow. The trip to the well was short but cold, Avelyn thanking the gods the water had not frozen over since her last visit. Back in the pub, Avelyn continued where she had left off, fingers numb and stiff. Back and forth, back and forth. The routine was so ingrained in her, the floors could have been cleaned with her eyes closed.

"You missed a spot." Avelyn looked up from the floor, her eyes taking a moment to focus on the face now in front of her.

Eomer. It had been months since the incident. He had apparently not forgotten her as she had wished.

Avelyn caught sight of her mother behind the counter, a silent reminder this was a place of business and for Avelyn to keep her tongue in check. "Yes sir," she said tightly. Perhaps he would leave if he saw no threat.

"Do you always speak to your superiors with that tone?" he asked. Superiors? The little bugger. How dare he come into her family's place of business and belittle her as such. She and her mother worked hard when her father was away trading to keep this place running.

With a deep breath in, Avelyn held any comeback wanting to hurl itself out. She could be pleasant. "No sir," she answered with restrained hostility. Pleasant enough.

"So you save it all for me then?"

"I have no ill feeling toward you."" There. That was the high ground her mother was always talking about, wasn't it?

Eomer snorted. "Ill feeling? Aren't you a riot."

"Is there something I can help you with?" Avelyn tried not to sound too exasperated. She was ten years old for goodness sake! She had better things to do than indulge in petty arguments.

"I want to know how after all this time, your hair still looks like a bird's nest. Have you ever seen a brush before? Perhaps the one in your hand would be a good place to start."

Pure fury. That's what she felt right now. Dunking the brush back into her pail with unnecessary force, the disturbance pushed the water to splash over, soaking Eomer's feet. The boy jumped back in quick succession, an indignant yelp escaping his lips. "Ops. So sorry. Please forgive me sir," Avelyn said with mock sincerity.

"Avelyn, you insolent child!" her mother cried out, rushing around the counter to see what the commotion was. Appalled at her daughter's behaviour, Aragwen yanked Avelyn from the floor, her hand an iron grip on her daughter's wrist. "Apologize this instant!"

"I already did."

Eomer, whose features twisted from rage to indignant, had his arms crossed over his chest. "You better watch yourself," he said cooly.

"Oh course she will. She should already know better," Aragwen chided.

The disturbance had attracted the attention of others, a man walking over with his daughter in tow. "And what has my son done now?" his deep voice interjected.

"Nothing, my lord," Aragwen practically begged. "Any commotion was the fault of my daughter, who will be strongly reprimanded." The last part was most certainly directed towards Avelyn and not for the comfort of the stranger. "Please forgive her, my lord. She is nothing but rude child who does not know her place."

A sharp pinch from behind prompted Avelyn to apologize again. Eomer's father looked back and forth between his son and her, most likely deciding whether there was any merit in seeking more punishment. His words surprised her though. "Highly do I doubt my son's innocence here, however the apology is accepted. Is it not, Eomer?"

"Yes," the boy grumbled, his eyes meeting anywhere but hers.

"Then it is settled. Children will be children, will they not?" The man asked with good nature.

"Of course, my lord," Aragwen said. "A free meal on the house for any disturbances." And without a moment to spare, Avelyn was dragged into the privacy of the kitchen and away from the others.

That night she received no dinner but a spanking to make up for it.

Completely worth it.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

On Avelyn's eleventh birthday, her father had returned home from a rather long trading expedition. The stories he brought back were always her favourite part, save from the treat he would bring her from a distant land. If anything made her feel worldly, it was knowing she had tried foods from across different nations. No one would take that small thing away from her. The stories though, they always became exaggerated when she retold them to her friends. The impressive looks on their faces as she recounted the exotic travels of her father were well worth the white lies. The validation making her feel greatly important.

On this particular birthday, her father, Tilian, brought back a much more valuable gift than a sweet treat.

"Do you know what this is?" he had asked as the wrapping fell open to reveal a small silver necklace. They were sat in their kitchen, Aragwen preparing Avelyn's birthday meal. The pendant gleamed radiantly I her father's hand, a small oval design with the sun etched in its center.

"Its jewellery!" Avelyn cried out in delight, her eager hands stretching out greedily. She had never owned something so beautiful before!

Her father laughed with a deep rumble. "Aye, but not just any simple piece. It comes from the White City. Made of the finest titanium, coated in silver plate. It should withstand anything you could possibly bring upon it."

Avelyn squealed with delight as her father draped the necklace over her head, the fine silver pendant falling below her collar bone. "It's beautiful!"

"As any proper lady should be," Aragwen said while finishing with the meal.

"Now you can always remember to be as-"

"As brilliant as the sun, fierce in its red blaze, just like my hair," Avelyn finished for him. It was something her told her every time before he would depart on a trade trip.

Tilian laughed again. "And now you should never forget it!"

Avelyn smiled broadly once again, her hand resting on the pendant. "Thank you, pa! I will never, ever take it off, ever! An entire band of orcs could storm the Riddermark and have to fight me before I would let it go!"

"And her wild imagination she clearly gets from you," Aragwen spoke softly, placing a soft kiss on her husband's cheek.

Before she could depart, Tilian grabbed Aragwen's hand and pulled her back to him. "Her beauty comes from you though," Aragwen laughed heartily as Tilian kissed her lips, prompting a groan from Avelyn's direction. "Her hair, though, will always remain a mystery," Tilian joked as he pulled a loose blonde curl from Aragwen's shoulder and tugged lightly.

"It was clearly the blacksmith down the road. His hair is a red as hers," Aragwen shot back with equal jest.

"Of course. It all makes sense now. We shall talk about that later." Another kiss, this one longer than the last.

Avelyn, who had had enough witness of tender touches, excused herself. Her bedroom called to her, where a small hand mirror laid on her dresser. It was all she could do to not run, eager to see how the delicate jewel had turned her from a girl to a woman.

It did not disappoint.

Xxxxxxxx

It was the spring of her twelfth year that Avelyn's world fell apart. The news had reached her family during a late lunch rush. It was a courier who held the sealed letter in his hand, a letter which he passed on to Aragwen, told her to read in private. The noise that had come from her mother was a sound she would never forget. Pure agony. The sound of a lover who had been taken away to soon. The death of her father had been the result of an ambush. Orcs from the north, the letter said. They had destroyed the trade settlement her father had been stationed at.

Surely it was some cruel joke. The fates of this world would not be so callous. Her father was a good man. Had been a good man. He had loved and been loved. It was the first hard life lesson Avelyn had learned.

Bad things happened to good people.

The repercussions had been more taxing than one so little as herself would think. Death was the end of something. Life was the continuation. So why was it so hard to move on? The heavy weight in her chest would surely lift, would it not? There would be an end to this grief.

The first night had been the worst. Her mother was inconsolable and Avelyn was left to tend to her own needs. A stranger to grief and loss, Avelyn clung to her bedsheets, a pain so strange and severe, it ached in her heart. It pulled at her lungs, preventing her from breathing, dragging her down. The world swayed a dangerous black and the night was lost to tears.

That day broke with no less ease. Her mother locked behind in her room, a wooden door separating her from any comfort Avelyn tried to offer. It was easier to bare grief together, was it not? Another night alone was to much to think on. It was too easy to feel alone. Perhaps if she could get to her mother, hold her, cry with her, they could be strong together.

If only it were so easy. Her own grief became second to her mother's, a women who had once been vivacious and full of life. Aragwen turned into a shade of her former self, becoming listless and empty when she wasn't crying. Inconsolable when she was. The role of parent reversed as Aragwen declined.

She relied on Avelyn to function for the easiest, most necessary tasks. Cooking, cleaning, managing the business, all fell to her daughter. A great and unfair burden for one trying to navigate loss herself.

Choosing which parent to grieve over left Avelyn exhausted. Mourning her father's death meant neglecting her mother. Tending to her mother left no room to grieve her father. She could not have one without losing the other.

And then her mother began to fade beyond repair.

The decline was slow, Avelyn's chance to mourn her father's death becoming non existent. To survive, she had to turn herself off. Become numb as she watched the colour in her mothers face fade. Watched her breathing turn slow and her heart eventually give out. It was her thirteenth year when Avelyn watched her mother succumb to the grief. The finality of it overwhelming.

She hadn't known what to do. Her mother's body laid there in the bed, cold and blue. Motionless. She had staired hard at her mothers face, hoping for an answer. When none came, Avelyn slowly removed herself from the room, gathered her bag with the essentials and left.

The butcher's shop was only down the street. Her feet carried her there. She didn't register opening the door, couldn't recall telling the butcher her mother had died and she didn't know what to do with the body. She couldn't remember the butchers wife coming out and holding her tight. She could barely remember the funeral.

Someone had come to get her, a distant relative she had never met before. They had taken her away to a new hamlet, a small village isolated from the rest of the world. They had promised her a new beginning. Promised her a life devoid of pain.

It was the second hard life lesson Avelyn learned. People make promises they can't keep.

Nothing in this new town seemed to shield her of her pain. It was something she would grow to live with. Her new family did their best, but the grief was isolating. Surely no one knew her feelings of loss. She was alone and separate from the others, hidden in a town which knew little of death and grief itself. But she was not the only one.

Many leagues away, back in Aldburg, grief had taken hold once again. This time targeting a boy and his younger sister. Separating them from their father and mother as it once had for Avelyn.

If one thing can be said about grief though, it is that it is where light can once again enter and open the best and brightest part of ourselves. If we only give ourselves the chance to heal.

That was the third hard life lesson Avelyn would struggle to learn.

Xxxxxxxxx

Holy man. I think I have some of my own grief issues to work through haha.

Who ever said writing isn't cathartic never really tried it!

Also this story is open to going anywhere so suggestions are always welcomed!

Please read and review because it's like crack to writers.


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